Monday, August 24, 2015

Only when compared to the massive success of a triple
platinum debut album could a platinum sophomore effort appear to be a
disappointment, but such is the case for Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun.
Coupled with how this album established a trend of Badu’s declining commercial
success with each subsequent album, the notion of Mama’s Gun as a
failure draws out both the problematic nature of the Neo Soul sub-genre as well
as the challenges Badu has surmounted in achieving a fruitful and remarkable
career as an artist. Baduizm remains an assertive, powerful introduction
to a unique artist that bristles with energy and creative branding, but Mama’s
Gun survives as Badu’s lasting statement of purpose, serves as template for
her following albums, and demonstrates the lasting influence of the creative
collective that spawned it.

Neo Soul unfairly silos some of the best music of the last
twenty years, arbitrarily differentiates it from the music that inspired it,
and diverts from the flow of mainstream R&B/Soul music that was occurring
around it simultaneously. At its worst, Neo Soul cursed the music it labeled
with unflattering comparisons to both the artistic high points of the golden
eras of 1960’s and 70’s Soul as well as the commercial successes of mainstream
R&B/Soul of the day. Where the label of Neo Soul constricts with
contradiction and sags with ambiguity, the title of a collective of musicians
responsible for creating some of the greatest albums of the late 1990’s and
early 2000’s, the Soulquarians, proves useful in drawing the connections among
these seemingly distinct works. The Soulquarians included, in addition to Badu,
Ahmir “Questlove” Thompson of The Roots, D’Angelo, Common, J Dilla, Pino
Palladino, Mos Def, and others. From 1999 to 2002, the Soulquarians produced Mama’s
Gun, The Roots’ Things Fall Apart and Phrenology, Common’s
Like Water for Chocolate and Electric Circus, and D’Angelo’s Voodoo.

Mama’s Gun and Voodoo can be viewed and as
siblings of spirit and style. As products of the Soulquarians, both albums
feature many of the same players and represent the collective’s creative power
at its peak. Pushing past 70 minutes and right up to the limit of the standard
running time for compact discs, Mama’s Gun bears the sprawling, kitchen-sink
inclusivity of a classic double album. Opening with a collage of overlapping,
hushed excerpts from anxiety-driven inner monologues, “Penitentiary Philosophy”
launches a confident, exuberant groove that sets the album’s tone for socially
conscious, wide-ranging Soul from what could be the doubts of distraction and
writer’s block that confront an artist working on a follow-up to a phenomenally
successful debut. “Penitentiary Philosophy” sets the precedent for the kind of
funky, organic jams that Badu explores more fully on 2010’s New Amerykah:
Part Two (Return of the Ankh).

Although Badu quickly distinguishes Mama’s Gun from
its predecessor through providing a more diverse range of styles, wider scope
of themes, and a lessened focus on her own iconography, she calls back to Baduizm
on the fourth track, “...& On.” By including a direct reference to Baduizm’s
breakout single “On & On” as well as the use of singing “Badu” as a kind of
tone-setting motif, a signature detail of her debut, Badu provides continuity
with her introduction, but places these pieces in a warmer, less
self-conspicuous setting. Right in the middle of the album comes “Kiss Me on My
Neck,” a dense, simmering workout that balances the seductive with the
commanding for its entire running time of five and half minutes. Badu divides
the song into two lyrical modes that guide stark shifts in the music’s
structure. Alternating between a gently sung, straight-forward request for
intimacy and an almost chant-like set of directions for the terms of this
intimacy, Badu addresses the complexities of desire within a musical context
that contains more mystery, beauty, and appeal than most “sexy” pop songs and
rewards repeated listening, as well. “Kiss Me on My Neck” hints at the darkly
experimental and thematically nuanced songs that form the heart of 2007’s New
Amerykah: Part One (4th World War).

Exploration of Badu’s music should begin with Mama’s Gun,
not end there. Sadly, like many of her peers in Neo Soul as well as her fellow
members of the Soulquarians, Badu’s music has not received the attention and
acclaim it deserves. Also, like her fellow Soulquarians, Badu has aimed her
music not for the charts and radio broadcasts of the moment, but for the sound
systems and listeners of the years to come. Badu’s mercurial, playful, and
dominant personality anchors Mama’s Gun and what she accomplishes on
this album has enabled her to progress as an artist like few of her peers of
this era or genre. Mama’s Gun is equally deserving of a first listen as
it is of a reappraisal.